And, mysteriously, all Audrey's illusions concerning France had been born
again. She was convinced that Paris could not fail to be paradisiacal.

Lady Southminster awoke.

Almost simultaneously a young man very well dressed passed along the
corridor. Lady Southminster, with an awful start, seized her bag and sprang
after him, but was impeded by other passengers. She caught him only after
he had descended to the platform, which was at the bottom of a precipice
below the windows. He had just been saluted by, and given orders to, a
waiting valet. She caught him sharply by the arm. He shook free and walked
quickly away up the platform, guided by a wise instinct for avoiding a
scene in front of fellow-travellers. She followed close after him, talking
with rapidity. They receded. Audrey and Miss Ingate leaned out of the
windows to watch, and still farther and farther out. Just as the
honeymooning pair disappeared altogether their two forms came into contact,
and Audrey's eyes could see the arm of Lord Southminster take the arm of
Lady Southminster. They vanished from view like one flesh. And Audrey and
Miss Ingate, deserted, forgotten utterly, unthanked, buffeted by passengers
and by the valet who had climbed up into the carriage to take away the
impedimenta of his master, gazed at each other and then burst out laughing.

"So that's marriage!" said Audrey.

"No," said Miss Ingate. "That's love. I've seen a deal of love in my time,
ever since my sister Arabella's first engagement, but I never saw any that
wasn't vehy, vehy queer."

"I do hope they'll be happy," said Audrey.